The Rose of the Battlefield
by NightKat86
Summary: What if Arthur had a half-sister? What affect will she have on the knights and their destinies? GawainxOC and some TristanxOC
1. Chapter 1 The Sarmatian Knights

**Chapter 1 – The Samatian Knights of Britain**

The Woads fought with monstrous viciousness and cruelty.

Wild and savage, they seemed to not care whether they attacked knight, villager, or one of the own people.

Gawain stood and surveyed the carnage as the screams of men, women and children mingled with the howling gale.

The attack had come suddenly upon the village, and when Arthur and his knights had finally arrived, the Woads were already over-running it and destroying everything in their path. Gawain rode to the battle without hesitancy, and jumping from his horse, landed in the middle of a group of blue-faced devils and commenced in ploughing them down relentlessly. Nearby, Bors and Tristan were also deep in combat; the former throwing a Woad over his head like a bag of grain, while the latter stood calm and composed, striking with such precision and elegance it was like watching a performance art.

Soon after the battle commenced, the Woads began to retreat, for though they were greater in number they were no match for the superior fighting skills of the Samatians.

As it looked like yet another victory, Bors turned to Gawain and grinned.

"Looks like we'll be home in time for supper!"

"Not quite," said Tristan, looking at the hill top behind them. Bors and Gawain followed his gaze and both groaned as a large re-formed group of Woads gathered and charged down the hill towards them.

"You were saying?" Gawain said turning to Bors, who spun his knives in his hands.

"Well, it was worth a shot."

And the three of them charged at their enemies….

* * *

"Yet one more day of massacre to add to the rest," said Lancelot glumly as the knights surveyed the damage. It could have been worse, the majority of the Huts still stood, however there were a great many dead villagers mixed with the dead Woads.

"Gather the wounded and put them in wagons," said Arthur, mounting his horse, "we'll take them back to the outpost to be healed."

Gawain clapped Galahad on his shoulder as they moved to help with the wagons.

"We live to fight another day, young Galahad," he said encouragingly.

"Yes, but for how long," Galahad replied. As the youngest and most idealistic of the knights he was always the most affected by the battles. "The Woads are becoming more daring – this is the fifth attack in two weeks – we can't keep fighting like this: eventually we'll tire out."

"They're more daring because of the news that Rome is withdrawing and they're pressing the advantage, but this won't be as bad as it will be in a year's time, when our outpost will be the Rome's one and only standpoint, but by that time we will have done our duty, and we will be free – Hold on to that Galahad – Only one more years!"

Galahad said nothing, but silently helped villagers into the wagon.

Once the wounded were loaded, the knights remounted and they began their journey slowly back to the outpost.

They rode silently at first, the memories of the battle haunting them for a while, until Tristan rode up beside Arthur.

"How is Callandra?" he asked, returning Arthur from his dark thoughts with a jerk.

"She is better," Arthur replied with a smile, "the physicians have finally allowed her to go outside, though she was still not well enough to join us today."

All the men seemed to pick up at the sound of Callandra's name.

"When will she be well enough to go with us again?" Galahad asked.

"The physicians say another few weeks to be sure," Said Arthur, "though how they'll keep her in the grounds for that length of time I don't know – I had to have Jols distract her to guarantee her not following us today."

They all laughed, with Bors roaring the loudest. "Yeah, she ain't half fierce once she gets riled up. It'll be good to have her back – Damn that bastard Merlin for poisoning her with his potions! We're goin to make pay for doin' that, right?"

"I'm not concerned about revenge at the moment, Bors," said Arthur, "I just thank God that she's alive and with us. At the appropriate time, Merlin will get what he deserves for hurting her; I promise you."

Gawain was silent throughout the conversation, nursing a cut on his arm he had received from a Woad that had caught him off guard, though upon hearing of Callandra, a small smile appeared on his face and his heart swelled with relief and happiness. Lancelot rode up beside him and grinned.

"No doubt you will be making a visit to our fair Callandra the moment we arrive back, eh, Gawain?"

Gawain glared at him but said nothing. Lancelot glanced down at his arm.

"You have the perfect excuse," he continued, "I wonder if you allowed yourself to be injured so as to avoid suspicion and to heighten her attentions towards you."

"Such deceit is only used by you Lancelot," Gawain replied through gritted teeth, "as it is only through such means you are able to get the attentions of a woman."

Without waiting for an answer, Gawain spurred his horse and galloped on ahead, as the great wall and the outpost loomed ahead in the near distance.

_Well, what do you think? Reviews are welcome and sought after. More coming soon!_


	2. Chapter 2 Callandra

**Chapter 2 – Callandra**

Callandra of Thessaly was the title given to the fair lady of whom Arthur and his knights spoke.

She was Arthur's half-sister, born to a Grecian woman whom Utha had taken during his travels.

At the tender age of two, Utha took Callandra away from her mother, and brought her to Britain to join her brother, and the two had been inseparable ever since.

Now, fifteen years later, Callandra was in the eighteenth year of her life: beautiful, smart, elegant and gentle, she was greatly loved, not only by Arthur, but by all who knew her.

To Arthur and the Samatian warriors, she was also a great asset on the battlefield. Apart from being the best an expert with the bow, she was also regaled as the greatest healer in the land, and more than once her abilities have pulled each of the warriors back from the abyss of death. She was Merlin's opposite double: for while Merlin made complicated and rare poisons to cripple the Roman soldiers, Callandra always devised a cure to counter them, and so it was for this reason that Callandra accompanied Arthur and the knights wherever they would travel throughout the country.

However, on the last expedition they were on, Callandra became the focus of the Woads' ambush, and was poisoned by Merlin's latest concoction through an arrow that pierced her shoulder.

Callandra had to battle physical pain and mental exhaustion to help the physicians produce a cure for her, and for a while it was feared that her condition was fatal.

Finally, through sheer desperation, Callandra discovered a cure by mixing two previous cures together, and was now on the mend.

On this day, she was walking through the grounds, enjoying the cool wind and the sweet-smelling air – it was the first time she had been outside in three months. Slowly, she made her way to the archery range and rand her fingers down the length of a bow lying on a table. She was angry when she was told she couldn't go with the others to battle, and frustrated when Arthur had left before she could even consider following them; but looking down at her frail, white fingers, she knew she would have been a liability to them had she gone.

It was the waiting for them to return that made her so anxious, and she prayed silently that they would all return safely.

To keep herself occupied, she picked up the bow, and decided to test her strength and accuracy. It proved to be worse than she'd thought, for her arms shook as she stretched the bow-string back, and though she hit the target, it was not nearly a satisfactory hit in her eyes.

'Lying about doing nothing for three months has made me soft,' she thought as she picked up another arrow.

Gradually, as she practised, she began to feel her strength return to her arms and her aim improved, while the cold wind brushed past her, making her face flush.

'Those physicians are so hell-bent on their traditional methods that they forget the basics,' she thought as she hit the target dead centre, 'I could've been up and well a month ago if I had only been allowed out for fresh air an exercise!'

At that moment, cry from above made her stop and look up to see Tristan's hawk flying in circles round the outpost.

"Open the gates! Open the gates!"

Over the clamour of the gates and the shouts of soldiers, the distant sound of horses could be heard approaching.

Callandra dropped the bow and ran towards the courtyard with a beaming smile of joy on her face.

They had returned!

_Thanks for the reviews! They keep me going! Just in case anyone's wondering, this story is set one year before the film. Sorry about how short this one is but it's mainly to introduce Callandra to you. Chapter 3 will bebetter!I'm gonna be working a 16 hour shift tonight soit won't be posted until tomorrow evening – Sorry!!_


	3. Chapter 3 Secret Whispers of the Night

_Hey everyone! Sorry I didn't load this last night as I promised - With the clocks going back I was working and extra hour so it really buggered me! Anyway - Chapter 3! Enjoy!_

**Chapter 3 – Secret Whispers of the Night**

Upon seeing all seven Knights dismount from their horses, Callandra breathed a big sigh of relief, before walking out to meet them.

The first to see her was Arthur, who hugged her fondly and kissed her forehead.

"It's good to see you are better," he said to her as the others joined them.

"Better now that you have all returned safely," She replied, "and if you go and fight without me again I'll skin you alive!"

Lancelot chuckled. "Yet it seems better this way, don't you think? Here we are: poor, tired and battle-worn warriors coming back from yet another slaughter, and upon returning are greeted by the most beautiful of ladies whose only happiness at the moment, is seeing us alive and safe. Now tell me, doesn't that sound like a more suitable arrangement that having you join us, covered in dirt and blood?"

Callandra smiled. "That silver tongue of yours never knows when to keep still," she answered cheekily, "you have much better prospects at using it against some poor defenceless barmaid and leave me in peace."

Lancelot feigned hurt. "And that is the gratitude I get for complimenting you? "Leave me in peace!" My lady you deal me a fatal blow!"

Everyone laughed, and it seemed the darkness that had previously hung over them all had subsided.

"Callandra," Arthur said, his eye catching the wounded villagers coming out of the wagon, "if you are feeling able, there are some innocents in need of your attention and care."

Callandra followed his gaze and nodded.

"Jols!" She called, bundling her golden locks back from her face and tying it with ribbon, "bring my bottles and help me with these people."

With Jols following closely behind, a small leather bag clutched in his hand, Callandra made her way to the wagon, and the knights dispersed to go their separate ways, except for Gawain, who stood watching Callandra as she helped and elderly man out the wagon and tended to his injuries. He smiled and his piercing blue eyes shone with longing, but after watching her a moment longer, he reluctantly turned away and went to change out of his armour.

* * *

In a cave hidden deep in the forests of Britain, a small band of Woads were huddled in a circle around a camp fire. At the centre of the circle, an old woman was crouched over the ground, scanning some stones in the firelight.

Her appearance was hideous: her greying hair, wet and matted with dirt, fell over her wrinkled, scarred, wart-ridden face.

As she scanned the stones with her black, beady eyes, she drew symbols in the sand with a long, yellow and chipped fingernail.

Those that surrounded her waited nervously for her to speak: for this was Mab, the most revered and feared elder of the Woads – more so than even Merlin, though he was their leader.

She hissed, she cackled, she mumbled; she picked up the stones, she scattered them and hissed some more.

Finally, a warrior stepped forward. "What do you see, Mab?"

Mab jerked her head up, and the disturber jumped back in fear, but a lopsided grin appeared on her ugly face.

"I see a ship with red sails..."

"A Roman ship!" someone gasped. "More Romans! They're meant to be leaving out country!"

Mab raised her hand for silence. "The leader's purpose is not to wage war with us – not his main purpose at least."

"Why do they come then?"

Mab stared so closely at the stones that her pointed nose nearly touched the ground.

"I see...greed and ambition: Pride...a thirst for power, and...Lust..."

She bobbed her head to the side, and taking a pouch from her robe she threw some white powder into the fire, making it grow and sparkle violet. Out of the flames, there appeared an image of a battle between Woads and Romans, and on the ground, amongst the dead, there grew a single white rose in full bloom."

"A rose on the battlefield..." Mab murmured, "Arthur's sister...he comes for her..."

Murmurs grew amongst the Woads. "How will this aid us, Mab?"

Mab smiled slyly. "A rose so beautiful is adored by many – and one woman amongst so many men is a perfect recipe for disaster."

The Woads looked at each other in confusion, making Mab roll her eyes and sigh.

"This Roman soldier that approaches is as venomous as a snake – his presence with cause disruption and will poison Arthur and his great Sarmation warriors. They will be blind to all else that goes on in the country – That will be when we make our move."

Whispers of awe and wonder arose, and the clink of metal as some Woads fingered their weapons in anticipation.

"But what of Merlin," someone said suddenly, "he has forbidden any direct attacks on Arthur – only on the Romans."

Mab frowned and wrapped her ragged cloak around her as she sat back on a rock.

"By the time Merlin discovers what is happening, it will all be beyond his control. Arthur's mother may have been one of us, but he has allied himself with the Romans – our enemy. He and his sister must be destroyed." She looked up and watched her people as they each nodded their agreement, "now leave and be patient; their blood shall be spilt on the land before the next full moon!"

_p.s Thanks for the reviews! Chapter 4 will have a little Gawain and Callandra, and the introduction of the new mysterious Roman soldier!_


	4. Chapter 4 Gawain and Callandra

**Chapter 4 - Gawain and Callandra: a Hidden Love**

After Gawain had changed out of his armour, he left his chambers and wandered outside. His arm was still causing him pain even though he had washed and dressed it as best he could, and he held it across his abdomen as he walked.

His first thoughts had been to get some food and join his friends at the bar – essentially to get so drunk that he would forget the horrors of the last battle and make the pain go away. However, on his way, he found himself passing the Healer's building.

He paused abruptly. Inside it was dark, despite the torches being lit, and a mixture of smoke and steam gave the place a hazy environment.

Gawain looked down at his arm, and then back up at the entrance. Finally, his mind was made up, and he stepped inside.

Instantly, he was hit with the staunch smell of blood, sweat, vomit, and other things: so potent was the stench that Gawain had to take a moment.

Recovering slightly, he continued in.

Inside, there were tables lined up rows, each with an occupant being attended to by a physician. On the far side, there were wooden stairs which led up to the bed chambers for those who were seriously ill or coming up to their final days.

In the midst of it all, stood Callandra; working hard to heal a young girl who had a broken leg. When she had finished treating her, she gave instructions to two men who stood nearby, and they carried the child upstairs.

Callandra wiped the back of her hand across her forehead which was covered in a sheen of sweat. She then picked up the bowl she had been using, and took it to the side to wash and refill with fresh water.

"I'll never understand how you can work here and not faint or be sick," Gawain said as he walked up to her. Callandra smiled.

"I'm used to it I suppose," she said as she scrubbed at the bowl. Callandra never believed in having servants, so usually when she needed something done, she did it herself, especially when she was in the role of a healer.

"What are you doing here?" she asked curiously. "I was wondering if you could take a look at my arm," Gawain replied awkwardly, "it's only a cut, but it's been throbbing ever since I got back."

Callandra straightened up and motioned for him to sit up on one of the tables. "You were wounded?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? It might be poisoned – you know how the Woads love to use poison these days."

"I erm – There are others here who are far more seriously injured," Gawain replied apologetically, "and I didn't want you to worry."

"Didn't want me to worry?" Callandra repeated, "I am one woman amongst seven men – six of whom are Sarmations – Gawain, I worry all the time, that's no excuse."

Gawain laughed as Callandra pulled up his sleeve and gently peeled away the meagre dressing, revealing a largely sized open cut that was purple around the edges and was slowly oozing out a foul - smelling pus.

Callandra glanced up at Gawain. "What do you think?"

Gawain raised his eyebrows. "I think I should've come to you sooner."

"Right answer." And without warning, she picked up a bottle of old wine and poured it over his arm.

"Argh!!"

"Serves you right," Callandra said sharply, though she dabbed at the wound tenderly, "if you had come to me sooner and I had dressed your wound, it wouldn't have become infected. You're lucky it wasn't poison."

"I'm sorry," Gawain said, wincing as she tended to him.

She didn't reply, but a small smile appeared on her face as she bent over his arm. Gawain watched her as she worked. There was never a mistake, never a pause, never a doubt in any of her actions. When she touched him, her fingers were cool and soothing as she massaged ointment onto his arm.

It was only ever on these few occasions that Gawain was able to get close the Callandra. Close enough to admire her soft skin, her loose silky curls that fell around her face. At one point, as she was turning to get rags to bandage his arm, her hand fell and rested on his thigh. It was away almost instantly, but the delicate touch had made Gawain stiffen instantly as another area of his body began to throb.

'Can't she see what she does to me?' he thought as he tried to regain his self-control. He glanced at Callandra, but she was so absorbed in what she was doing that she was obviously oblivious.

'And if she were paying attention, she would be disgusted,' he thought sadly, 'a lady of Rome – even an adopted one – would never be interested in a filthy, uneducated, pagan Sarmation...'

"Gawain?"

Gawain looked up. While he had been thinking, Callandra had finished tending to him and had bandaged is arm up properly.

"You looked like you were in another world for a moment," Callandra said.

Gawain jumped off the table and rolled his sleeve back down. "Just lost in my own thoughts."

They didn't look very pleasant," Callandra commented.

"They weren't."

"Were you thinking about today's battle?"

Gawain smiled sadly, "Yes," he said quietly, "that's what I was thinking of."

Just then, Jols came in. "Excuse me, Callandra, but a message has arrived from Rome for Arthur and he would like to see you when you are free."

Callandra nodded. "Tell him I'll be there directly."

When Jols left she turned back to Gawain.

"I'd better go," she said. "It'll be better in the morning, Gawain – everything seems better in the light of day. Get something to eat, then try to get some sleep."

"I will. Thank you," he said.

Callandra smiled. "You're welcome."

She was about to turn to leave, when Gawain took her hand in his. It was not unusual for the knights to kiss Callandra's hand as a symbol of their affection or of their gratitude, if she had helped them, so Callandra was not at all taken aback when he took it. However, when she looked up and her eyes met his, her heart fluttered to her throat as their eyes locked momentarily.

It was not the first time it had happened, yet each and every time Callandra looked into those fierce blue eyes, she could never look away. Looking into those eyes was like looking into the eyes of a lion: strength, power, courage and honour – and something else...Something that only appeared whenever he looked at her. She couldn't read what it was, but it always made her melt.

Slowly and deliberately, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it so softly that all Callandra felt was the bristles of his beard.

"Goodnight, Callandra," he said softly, and forcing himself to break their intense gaze, he walked out, leaving Callandra standing herself; cradling the hand he had held as though it contained the most precious item in the world.

_Had to restructure the story a bit - the mystery Roman won't be introduced for a wee while yet. Next - Chapter 5!!_


	5. Chapter 5 An Unexpected Arrangement

_Hey everyone! Viola! chapter 5 - Please let me know what you think. Just to warn you, I didn't know how to spell the name of the priest who was Arthur's mentor, so please forgive my crap attempt at spelling it. Other than that, Enjoy!_

**Chapter 5 – An Unexpected Arrangement**

Arthur paced up and down the length of the round table, a deep frown embedded on his features. Clenched in his hand was a torn, dirty piece of parchment, upon which faint dark Latin scribbles could be seen.

Upon ensuring that his sister was well, Arthur had hoped to have a little time to himself before nightfall – and in that time, get the first good few hours sleep he would have had in a week. However, when Jols entered with the parchment in his hand, all thoughts of sleep were forgotten, and Arthur broke the seal on the parchment with great anticipation, expecting it to be a message from his friend Pelagius in Rome.

The message was from Pelagius, and though written with great excitement, the information given was neither pleasant nor wanted in Arthur's eyes.

Stopping with a grunt, he un-crumpled that paper and re-read it for the fifth time, as though hoping that he had misread it the previous four times. His dismay he scrunched it up again and cursed softly as Callandra entered.

"I gather the news from Rome is not good," she said, her face set in an expression of curiosity and anxiety.

Arthur looked up at her, no longer frowning, but looking worried.

"I suppose... It depends on how you look at it..." he said after a while.

Callandra walked up to him. "But you are unhappy," she said quizzically.

"No! – Well – Not exactly! – It depends!"

Arthur ran his hand through his hair, a force of habit when he was nervous. "_My _reaction is the least of our worries."

Callandra folded her arms: she hated it when Arthur acted like this and she was left in the dark.

"Arthur. What's wrong?"

"The message is from Pelagius," Arthur began, "he sends you his regards."

Callandra nodded but said nothing. She waited for Arthur to continue.

"He writes to inform me that at this very moment, a ship is heading for Britain carrying the great Centurion Octavius and a hundred more Roman soldiers."

"But how can that be?" Callandra asked, "I thought Rome had decided not to send any more soldiers to us – and why is a centurion coming? They are the elite."

"Apparently, a long time ago, Octavius's father risked his life to save our father's during a great war. As a result of his heroic effort, the man was wounded and remained an invalid for the rest of his days. Father was eternally grateful to him, and so he promised him anything of his that he desired, as token of his gratitude. Octavius is coming to claim his father's compensation."

"Seems like a long time to wait before claiming a debt," Callandra replied thoughtfully, "and father has been dead for years. What is it he wants?"

Arthur closed his eyes in anguish: This was the part he was dreading.

"Arthur," Callandra said impatiently, "what does he want?"

Arthur looked her straight in the eyes.

"You."

Callandra blinked. What did he say? Had she heard him right?

"Excuse me?"

"He's come for you, Callandra."

"What do you mean, he's come for me – I don't understand!"

Arthur sighed. "Father arranged for you to marry Octavius – That was the arrangement he had made to settle his debt."

Callandra went rigid. She felt like she had just got punched in the stomach, and all the wind had been knocked out of her.

_Marriage? To a man she had never even met? To settle a debt!!?_

Her anger seemed to increase, the more she absorbed what had been said, and Arthur, who knew his little sister so well, was aware of it.

"Callandra?"

"How long?" Callandra asked; her voice sounding hoarse.

"He will arrive within a few days."

"A few days!!!" Callandra cried; any attempts to remain calm now disappearing, "I have never met this man in my life! And I'm supposed to meet him in a few days and become his wife!"

"Callandra, calm down."

"Calm down! Calm down! I am being used as an instrument of bartering to settle a promise made by our dead father, and you want me to be calm!"

"Octavius is a noble man," Arthur reasoned, "he is a hero back in Rome; his reputation is outmatched by no other. His escapades across Europe have resulted in the great advance of the Roman Empire. He is honourable, chivalrous and-"

"I DON'T CARE!!!"

Arthur was stunned into silence. He had been expecting Callandra to be unhappy, but the news had obviously distressed more than he thought.

She was pacing up and down, her hands constantly moving from her hips, to her head, then folding across her stomach. Her hair was getting messy from her pulling her fingers through it, and tears of frustration and fear were streaming down her emerald eyes.

"I refuse to marry a man I do not love," she said quietly in a quivering voice, "no one can force me. I don't care if this man was declared a saint – I am not going to marry him."

She was about to say more, but at that moment her voice failed her, and cried silently. In an instant Arthur was holding her and speaking words of comfort.

"There now," he said soothingly, "Who said anything about forcing you to marry him? I would never allow you to marry a man you do not love."

Callandra looked up at him, looking like a vulnerable child.

"But you must understand," Arthur went on, "you have to marry sooner or later – I won't be around forever, and I want to make sure you're looked after: someone who will protect you, and put you highest above all else. And like you said, you've never met Octavius, how can you be so sure that you will not love him when you meet him?"

Callandra dried her eyes, but said nothing.

"In the end," said Arthur, "the promise made by father is not binding on us, and if after you have met him, you are still averse to marrying him, then as your guardian, I will forbid the marriage."

Callandra smiled. She was still unhappy with the situation, but knowing that Arthur was willing to give her the choice re-assured her.

"Alright."

Arthur smiled and kissed her forehead, and with a final nod, she turned and left him with his own thoughts.

* * *

The night was clear, and the light from the moon cast shadows upon Hadrian's Wall. From the roof of the one of the watch towers, Tristan sat gazing at the stars; losing himself in their beauty. The frost in the air nipped at his face and he drew his cloak tighter round himself.

Down below, nothing stirred, for it was deemed too cold for anyone to be out, but Tristan loved being outside, and so he sat there for hours alone, reflecting on thoughts that were his alone.

A soft movement directly below stirred him. Without a sound, he slid of the roof, and staying in the shadows, he made his way towards the intruder, who stood leaning against the banister, unaware of being watched.

The moon shone through the sheltered watch tower and reflected on golden hair, giving it a silver shimmer, and Tristan paused for a moment as he recognised Callandra.

She was wearing a midnight blue, velvet gown, with a single silver, chained belt clasped loosely around her waist. She looked almost ethereal – Like an Angel of Frost descending from the heavens to observe the changing seasons.

Tristan gazed at her a few moments more before stepping out of the shadows and coughing slightly to make himself known.

Callandra turned with a start, and upon recognising him, smiled sweetly.

"I forget you like to haunt this place," she said teasingly, though her voice was gentle. Tristan smiled.

"I see the usual festivities were cut short," Callandra said after a while, for Tristan rarely took the initiative to start a conversation. But Callandra was one of those happy people who could adapt to suit other personalities, and so whenever she talked to Tristan, the atmosphere was never tense and she was always comfortable around him.

"It was thought to be best," Tristan replied, "especially when Bors slipped on a patch of black ice and fell into the barrels of ale."

Callandra laughed. "No doubt the ale is due some of the guilt."

Tristan nodded as he went to stand beside her. Silence descended between them again, and they gazed at the moon together for a while. Then out of the corner of his eye, Tristan caught Callandra shivering slightly as a cutting wind blew by them.

Unbuckling his cloak, he threw it over Callandra's shoulders. She looked like she was about to protest, but he shook his head.

"You're still recovering," he said, "You need it more than I do."

"Thank you," Callandra replied, and she snuggled up against the material which still had some of Tristan's warmth.

"You seem troubled," Tristan stated, making Callandra look at him in surprise.

"You have been crying," he explained, motioning to her tear-stained cheeks.

Callandra stayed silent. There was no point denying it, and she didn't want to.

"I've just received some news which I wish I hadn't," was all she said, and Tristan didn't push her. He knew if Callandra wanted to talk about it, she would have, and so all he said was;

"Is there anything you need?"

"No," Callandra whispered softly, "thank you, but I don't think any of you will be able to help me with this."

Tristan frowned; he was now very curious to find out what was going on, but he was he would find out soon enough, so he stayed quiet.

The two went into their silent reverie once again, and gazed up at the moon and stars, lost in their own thoughts. But another gust of wind from the north brought Callandra's mind back to what lay ahead, as though as a reminder of who it was bringing to her from across the sea and she closed her eyes in despair.

This might be a battle that she may not be able to win...


	6. Chapter 6 A Drunk's Mistake

**Chapter 6 – A Drunk's Mistake**

Word quickly spread throughout the occupants of Hadrian's Wall, and within a day, it was the only thing everyone talked of.

The morning after he had told Callandra, Arthur called a meeting at the Round Table and explained the upcoming events.

The reaction of each man was different, but none of them reacted positively.

Bors cursed venomously and proceeded to rant without taking a breath:

How could Arthur allow this?

He was giving his sister away to a complete stranger?

Do Callandra's feelings mean nothing?

Doesn't she have an input?

Dagonet remained silent; his hands clasped in front of him, but made Arthur aware of his opinion through his penetrating glare.

Galahad, like Bors, swore when he first heard, but then leaned against the table, his head bowed in silent dismay.

Lancelot stood rigid with an expression of disbelief on his face.

Tristan stood with his eyes fixed on the table, his mind going back to the night before, when he had seen Callandra in the sentry tower. This was the news she had received; that was why she had been crying. The others didn't know how she had reacted, and judging by Arthur's attempts to calm the others, he was in denial as to how upset she really was. This thought made Tristan clench his fists and grit his teeth.

Gawain was the only one who remained seated when Arthur told them, and for a while, all he could do was sit there and stare dumbly at his hands.

"Does Callandra know?" Dagonet asked eventually; a question that made the room silent once more.

"Yes," Arthur replied.

"And does she agree to this?" asked Lancelot.

"She had agreed to meet him," Arthur answered firmly, "I would ask her to do no more than that. It is her choice as to whether or not she marries him."

"And if she decided she will?"

Gawain's voice sounded hollow and empty, and it echoed in the great hall so that his words were drummed into all of them.

"If she marries him," Arthur replied, "she will probably return to Rome with him."

Gawain closed his eyes, Arthur's words sinking in like a dozen knives through his body, causing a pain like no other. Knocking back his chair, he stood up abruptly, and without a word, he pounded his fist against the table withall his strength.

Now, it was the worst kept secret amongst the Sarmatiansthat Gawain was in love with Callandra. He had never confided in any of them, but they all knew – with the exception of Arthur, who seemed oblivious to the obvious signs, such as now. So, when the thunderous noise subsided, the Sarmatianslooked at their brother knights with varied looks of anxiety and sympathy, while Arthur looked at him in surprise.

Gawain ignored them, and rubbing his hand, he walked silently out of the hall. He couldn't think straight; all he thought of was Callandra, the wife of another man – a Roman, no less – and forever separated from him.

He stood in the corridor, with one arm against the pillar for support. It was for the best, he supposed. It had always been his belief that Callandrawould never consider him as anything more than a friend, and so he had remained silent as to his own feelings. Perhaps this was a blessing; for now, with Callandraaway to Rome withher new husband, maybe he'll be able to move on with his life, and stop pining after something that he couldn't have.

'It's the life she deserves anyway,' he reasoned, 'a palatial home with servants and the finest silks and foods; feasts with lords and ladies – a life I could never give her.'

Gawain found himself settling into an uneasy calm as he thought this.

Yes, she would be better off there, and he would get on with his life, as though he had never met her.

"Gawain?"

Gawain spun round to find Galahad standing behind him.

"What is it, Galahad?" Gawain asked, trying to look composed.

"Are you alright?"

"My hand's a bit sore, but I don't think there's any real damage."

"I'm not talking about your hand, you idiot!"

Gawain paused for a moment, unsure if he could trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

"I'm as upset as the rest of you," he said eventually, "I mean, I don't think the centurion will allow her to visit us on a regular basis, he'll want her with him all the time."

"It's a bit early to think like that," Galahad said cautiously, "she might not like him, in which case she obviously wouldn't marry him."

"Arthur wants her to marry him," Gawain said, "he's a Roman, and he wants Callandra to marry a Roman. Arthur is going to do everything he can to persuade Callandra that she should become the wife of this _Centurion Octavius_"

"He wants what's best for her, but I don't think he would push her into such an arrangement against her will."

"It doesn't matter, in any case. She'd be well looked after, and she'll have a comfortable life. That's something she could not be guaranteed if she became the wife of a Sar- of someone else."

The bitterness in his voice when he spoke the last part was not lost on Galahad, who desperately tried to think of a way, he could keep Gawain's spirits up. But at that moment, the great doors opened and the other knights came out, headed by Bors.

"C'mon, Gawain," he said, "we're all goin' to the Tavern. C'mon and I'll getcha a pint."

Gawain smiled. At this point, drunken bliss was a welcomed prospect – anything to make him forget.

"Lead the way, Bors."

* * *

Callandra held the little girl's hand as the fever continued to rise.

She was one of the casualties of the last Woad raid: only seven years old, and a broken leg.

Upon examining her, Callandra had discovered that the break was in several places, and so severe that there was no chance of a full recovery. She harnessed the child's leg to keep the bones as in line as possible, but as the leg healed itself, the girl became sick, having been exposed to other illnesses during her residence in the Healer's Building.

Holding the tiny, cold, clammy hand in her own, Callandrafelt her own woes being put into perspective: What did she have to complain about. If this little girl survived the infection – which was highly improbable – she would have to deal with a deformed leg that will cause her great pain for the rest of her life.

For the last twenty-four hours, Callandra had sought sanctuary in her work, unable to face the stares and the whispers as she walked by, about what was going to happen within the next few days. She knew the Sarmatians had been told; Dagonet, who frequently stopped by to offer any help, had came in the early evening. He said not one word about it, but put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it firmly. He then told her that he was joining the others at the Tavern and that she was welcome to join them if she wished.

At the time, Callandra said no, feeling that she would not be able to handle their reactions. But as time went on, and the deteriorating state of the little girl making her more depressed, she thought that a little merriment might do her some good, and she was always guaranteed a laugh when she joined them at the Tavern. Changing into a dress of red and gold, she walked quickly towards the Tavern.

The torches were lit around the area, which, combined with the laughing and cheerful banter, gave a warm and inviting feel to the environment.

Callandra stood hidden in the darkness for a moment, surveying the scene.

Vanora, Bors's lover and mother of his children, was walking quickly up and down all the busy benches, refilling mugs with one hand and holding a rosy-cheeked baby in the other. Bors and Dagonet were sitting by the bar, a pint in their hands as they talked. Galahad was practicing his knife throwing, while Lancelot, who was meant to be competing against him, was getting distracted by the many different barmaids that walked by. Tristan stood nearby, watching the scene while fingering his own knife, ready to throw it if either of the combatants became too arrogant.

Callandra smiled. Placing one foot into the circle of light, she was about to make herself known when her eyes fell on Gawain and her foot froze while her smile disappeared.

Sitting apart from the others, Gawain gulped down yet another mug of ale, and when he was finished, he slammed it down to join the other ten mugs he had already emptied. He was obviously drunk, and was mumbling and laughing softly to himself as he motioned to have another mug brought to him. What caused Callandra to freeze were the actions of the barmaid after she gave Gawain the mug. She stood behind him and then proceeded to massage his shoulders, and comb her fingers through his hair seductively. Gawain responded by sitting up straighter and closing his eyes, enjoying the feeling.

Callandra stepped back into the darkness, pressing her lips tightly together and clenching her fists. Suddenly she didn't feel like socialising very much. She turned around and slowly walked away, pausing only when she was about to turn a corner, and looked back, as though hoping that the scene would have changed, it had, but not in the way Callandrahoped. Gawain was now standing, though not steadily, withhis mug still in his hand, and made his way out of the Tavern down the opposite direction towards his quarters, with the barmaid following him, hugging and stroking his arm as they walked.

Stifling a whimper, Callandra turned away and ran quickly down the dark alley.

* * *

Gawain cursed as he continued to stumble towards his quarters: he really shouldn't have drunk too much. He had done it forget Callandrafor one night, but found it only made him think about her more, and think about the upcoming situation with less honourable thoughts. It was only when he was half way down the alley did he realise that he was not alone.

"Get off me, Flora," he said, trying unsuccessfully to release his arm from her grip.

"What's the matter, Gawain?" Flora asked, teasingly, "Get turned down?"

Gawain growled and consumed the rest of his ale. It wasn't so much getting turned down as being avoided. He had hoped that Callandra would have came so he could see how she felt about her semi-arranged marriage, but she hadn't, and this had only made Gawain drink more.

Flora reached up and cupped his face in her hand making him look down at her.

"If you want," she whispered seductively, "I can make you forget her."

Gawain looked at her. He was not so drunk to not know what she was saying.

Part of him wanted to push her away from him in disgust, but then...

Without thinking, he reached out and taking Flora by the back of the neck, brought her to him and kissed her fiercely. She responded to him instantly, wrapping her arms around his neck and forcing her tongue into his mouth.

Throwing away his mug, he put his hands around her waist, pushing her back up against a wall before lifting her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She groaned as he kissed her jaw and neck, while his hand made its way under the skirts of her dress and began travelling up her thigh.

Gawain closed his eyes, feeling her soft hair fall about his face, her hands moving all around his upper back, the touch of her silky skin, her soft lips kissing his forehead...

"Oh, Gawain!"

Gawain's eyes snapped open.

That wasn't the voice he wanted to here.

It was as though all the alcohol he had drank that night had suddenly lost its influence over him, and he came back to his senses as he realised what he was doing.

"NO!"

Before Flora knew what had happened, Gawain had let her go, and she fell to the ground in the most undignified way.

Panting, Gawain backed away from her like she was a demon and wiped his lips against the back of his hand.

Flora looked up at him, dazed and confused.

"What th-"

"It wasn't you I was thinking of," Gawain gasped, "it wasn't – I thought – For a moment I thought you were-"

Flora began to think he had gone mad. Feeling annoyed and awkward she arranged her dress to cover her properly while Gawain paced for a moment, running his hand through his hair.

Finally, he felt himself calming down and covering his eyes with his hand, cursed himself for having been so stupid.

"Never again," he said softly, "never again."

"Gawain!?"

He had begun to walk away, but Flora's cry made him pause and look back. She was still on the ground where he had dropped her, her head held high in an indignant, you-can't-do-this-to-me fashion.

He would have laughed had he not felt so ashamed of himself, and disgusted with her.

"Go home, Flora," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you're not my type."

And with that, he walked away.

_**Sorry about the delay, and sorry about the crappy heading for this chapter, but I couldn't think of anything else. I'll try and put the next chapter up as soon as poss. Please let me know what you think!!**_


End file.
